Tied Together With A Smile
by Dancerdramatic13
Summary: "Drew? Andrea? Hon, are you in there?" He hasn't called her Andrea since they first met, to him, she's always been either Drew or Princess, she isn't sure when that changed. Will pushes the door open, his face falling as he takes in the sight. She's a mess, and she knows it. - or, a Drew and Will friendship story.


A/N: This fic does mention Anorexia, and does speak of a character starving themself on purpose. If this has the potential to trigger you or to cause you to relapse, please don't read this fic. Just a quick authors note I forgot to put the first time.

* * *

 _You're tied together with a smile_

 _But you're coming undone_

When he finds out, she's crying in a bathroom stall, puke dripping from her mouth into the toilet bowl.

" _Drew?"_ He whispers, gently opening the door. She doesn't reply.

" _Drew? Andrea? Hon, are you in there?"_ He hasn't called her Andrea since they first met, to him, she's always been either Drew or Princess, she isn't sure when _that_ changed.

Will pushes the door open, his face falling as he takes in the sight. She's a mess, and she knows it. Her hair is stringy and oily from not washing it for weeks, her makeup is smudged before being able to fix it, puke is everywhere, and the bottle of Sobieski vodka she'd been drinking is still in her right hand.

" _Drew? Hon, what happened?"_ Will is kneeling next to her, his hands gently guiding her body away from the toilet bowl.

He has tissue paper in his hands, and she accepts it without looking at him. She wipes her mouth, nose furrowing at the rancid smell, before responding to his question.

"I relapsed." She whispers, keeping her eyes lowered so she can't see his disappointment. She feels embarrassed,she's nineteen years old, drowning her troubles in vodka just because her anorexia is back. He sighs in response, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, like he used to, before they fought in that first war, before she became a bitch, before Silena, Michael and Lee died. Just like when they were friends.

"I told myself that it was just one meal. Just one that I would skip y'know? I really wasn't hungry, I swear! Then it became dinner as well, then breakfast the next morning, and before I knew it, I was using that journal again. Writing down the calories, regulating how much I ate. It's like I'm fourteen again Will. It's just like after the war."

She know that what she's saying is bullshit, that she should've known better, that she's fucked up again, but honestly, Drew couldn't care less. She is a failure, a failure to the Aphrodite cabin, a failure to the Tanaka bloodline and to herself. He looks at her, his eyes filled with tears, and she feels guilt skyrocket through her body.

" _I'm sorry,"_ he whispers, earning a confused look from her. He looks at her again. " _I should have noticed, I should have helped you, this is my fault. God, I'm sorry that you're going through this again."_

Drew looks up at him, her eyes clouding over with tears as well as she responds. "It's not your fault Musicman. It was never your fault. Actually, it's neither of us's fault."

Those are words that Drew never thought that she'd say, and the relief she feels after saying them is unbelievable. They sit there, on the bathroom floor of her tiny apartment, puke still in the toilet, and memories flashing through both of their minds. Will's phone rings, and familiar tune plays as he fishes out of his pocket, as Drew rests her head on his shoulder.

He answers, it's his mom Naomi, and Drew smiles softly as she listens to their conversation. Will puts the phone call on speakerphone, and within minutes, Naomi is gushing over Drew telling her how proud she is of her, that relapsing is a thing that the three of them will get through, and Drew remembers hearing those words five years ago, when she was lying in a hospital bed, Will's arms wrapped around her just like now, and feeling Naomi brushing her hair out of her face.

And as odd as it may sound, to Drew, these people feel like home, like safety.


End file.
